


All That I Can Get

by Nemoinis



Series: All That I Can Get [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, Infidelity, M/M, POV First Person, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4753511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemoinis/pseuds/Nemoinis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry will take what he can of Tom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That I Can Get

**Author's Note:**

> Moving all my work to AO3. 
> 
> Kudos and Comments greatly appreciated.

He wakes me the same every night. Gentle kisses upon my brow; hard, nude body pressed to mine. I tell myself each time I go to sleep that tonight I'll turn him away, I'll be strong. I try to believe, but my loneliness makes it a lie. I try anyway.  
  
He doesn't speak and somehow it makes it easier. I can almost pretend its a dream, that I'm pliant and soft in sleep instead of open and willing beneath him. But my body knows him, recognizes him, has imprinted his touch and it responds despite my resolve.  
  
Lips brush my mouth and I yield immediately, shamed in my lack of resistance, but he doesn't care. His kisses are intoxicating and I can't help but taste him; the flavor of his favorite scotch, the heat of his breath. Deep, full kisses that explore my mouth and ravage my tongue; that batter my will until I'm trembling and he hasn't even touched me with his long, skillful fingers.  
  
God, those fingers. They start their dance by skimming across my face, delicate little brushes, leaving sparks in their wake. They replace his mouth and I take them in, licking their length, sucking at their tips, until he gasps his pleasure. Wet, they wind a familiar path down my chest to pluck at my already hard nipples, erect and aching. His mouth follows, hot and damp, scraping and bruising. Tomorrow I'll heal every mark, erasing the reminders of my weakness. My secret humiliation. But at this very moment, where no one can see, I secretly treasure every single bruise that marks me as his, and his alone. He toys with me, plumping and squeezing the muscles of my chest so he can suckle and bite the sensitive tips to his hearts content, and I relish it.  
  
I want to hold him, stroke him, run my fingers through his hair but, as always, I only dig my hands deeper into the sheets beneath us. I wonder for a lingering second what would happen if I changed the game, if I reached out and touched him as I longed to. We would be equals and I would no longer be the needy one. Would he lean into *my* caresses, would he kiss *my* fingertips... but I'm frightened and I never do. Coward. So instead we reenact the same scene over and over, performances given nightly; stuck between what if and what will never be.

I can't contain the moan that breaks low in my chest as those nimble hands move downwards, swirling over my stomach, coming to a fluttering halt around the head of my cock, stroking, petting, possessing. He smiles against my skin at the noises I make, rewarded by my inability to control myself. As recompense of my own throat's disloyalty, he drags a thumb over the wet head, bringing it to my face, allowing me to lick away my own essence. My mouth tries, against my will, to convey my feelings to him, my need, my _*love*_ , but my tongue has never been that eloquent and he pulls away once he's clean.  
  
His mouth replaces his hands below my waist and I can't breathe properly, wanting so desperately to surge upward with my hips but knowing he'll only play out the torment longer if I do. We've waged this battle before and I always lose; the defeat forfeit in the pleasure I receive at his victory. His mouth moves over and around me, small tastes of the plumed head, nibbling little kisses to my shaft, mouthing the heavy sac beneath it.  
  
His hands gripping the backs of my thighs and raising them to his shoulders makes my heart jump and my cock weep. It knows what happens next, it wants what happens next, and it feels no betrayal. It doesn't understand the shame of an indifferent mouth changing you, transforming you into a sensation; into something that has no other need than to be filled and possessed and taken.   
  
He hesitates over the center of my body, his warm breath scalding me, his wet tongue drawing random designs above and below idly. He's waiting for me to surrender, to be the first to give in. _*I won't, I won't, I won't.*_ My silent chanting beats in time with my harsh panting. The designs grow less idle as my silence lengthens, they start to curl and twist, closer and closer to the bitter core, until he's circling it, barely touching it, taunting me with the lack of him. A sudden, full contact suck at my body wrings a cry of his name before I can help it. It doesn't matter, he hears the surrender in the one syllable and gives me what I want.  
  
A hot, pointed tongue slips into my ass, fucking me roughly then gently rimming around the edges until I'm pushing against his mouth whimpering, begging him to fuck me. Begging with my straining body, my rasping breaths, and _*Oh God*_ my voice, deceiving me through clenched teeth. "You bastard... please..."  
  
He flips me aggressively, bringing me to my hands and knees, head bowed and submissive. He presses into me; the ease of his entrance mocking me. For all my rebellion, he has yet to come to me and find my body tight. Does he understand the self-inflicted punishment of my actions; the cool slide of lube, the gentle stretching done before I lay down to sleep? Or does he simply see a foregone act of surrender that I prepare myself for him. He never mentions it, perhaps he knows it would stop if he says the words that make it real. It doesn't matter anyway. For all that I hate it, I gladly take the reward.  
  
My world shrinks until all that's left is the heat and flame that fill me, the rhythmic beat of his thighs against my ass, the slapping of his balls. His pilot's hands grip my hips and guide me as purposefully and steadily as he steers Voyager. He reaches around and strokes my burning cock in time with his thrusts and I can feel the tightening begin in my balls. I want to shout my pleasure out to the world but I can only manage the earthiest of moans that contains his name. He grunts in acknowledgment and speeds his motions, slamming himself in further and further. Twisting and moving, he hits the spot that freezes the moment, causes my back to arch and my climax to spill into his hand. My ass clenches about him and I can feel him jerking inside me, and everything shatters and then falls into place.  
  
We collapse in a silent tangle, sweating and unable to breathe, but still connected. He holds me tenderly in his arms until the shaking stops, his cheek resting against my shoulder. Maybe we sleep, I'm never sure, but some internal clock tells him her shift is ending and it's time to go. He rolls from me and I listen to him dress. I'm tired and trying hard not to slip into sleep when he eventually leans over me.   
  
Finally he speaks, nothing more than my name, but I hear the unspoken words in it and I can sense the pain behind the silence. One sweet kiss and he's gone. But if I'm quick, I can brush my fingers against his wet cheeks and say my own goodnight.

He gives what he can; I take all that I can get.  
  
And it has to be enough.


End file.
